


All's Well, Mostly

by hawkeing_eta



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Injury, M/M, treatment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-23
Updated: 2016-05-23
Packaged: 2018-06-10 07:55:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6946492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hawkeing_eta/pseuds/hawkeing_eta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I know,” he says, low and rough, and he can't stop the chill that runs through his whole body. He tells himself it's from the wet shirt. “Can't help worrying, though.” His hand grabs for the dog tags and wedding ring that hang around his neck, fingers fiddling with the worn metal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All's Well, Mostly

Hancock is being more rough than usual, and Liam supposes he deserves it. He's done a lot of stupid shit, acted before he really had any chance to think what kind of consequences his actions would have, let his mouth run just a few words too long only to find a fist in his face or ending up staring down the barrel of a gun.

The burn scars from that car explosion are going to be something he has to live with, but it could have been worse. He's not entirely sure how, but they both came out of it alive. That has to count for something.

It doesn't even feel like Hancock is trying to be gentle; rough fingers are poking and pulling and digging into red and burning flesh. Liam is sitting in a chair, pressing his face into the surface of a desk and trying not to move anymore than he can help it. He's already punched the wall once and banged his fist against the desk top at particularly stubborn pieces of shrapnel and each time Hancock scolds him not to move or he'll end up shoving it in deeper. It's so stupid—they're so small and everything hurts so much. He's not sure how long his leg has been bouncing and he's sure it's jarring him more than Hancock would like, but the other man hasn't said anything about that yet. The constant rhythm is a comfort.

His back feels wet and raw, and he can feel the cobwebs in his lungs start to grow again, and it takes him a moment to realize Hancock had stepped away. Liam doesn't move, just keeps sitting there, focusing on his breathing and propped against a decrepit desk in an abandoned shack out in the middle of god fucking knows where and he can't stop bouncing his god damn leg. The chain of his dog tags feel heavy on his neck.

Distantly, he hears the metal sound of a canister being opened and something being poured out. The only warning he gets is a soft “Watch yourself” before something cold and wet settles on his shoulder and back and it jolts him enough his breath catches in his throat. It takes him a moment to settle and it takes even longer to realize it's one of his spare shirts soaked with what little water they have left that's draped across his charred back.

“Shit,” he breathes more than whispers, and Liam can't even bother to keep his eyes open any more.

“What the fuck were you thinkin'?” That raspy voice comes from right next to him and Liam doesn't need to open his eyes to know that Hancock is crouching down next to him, staring at him with what he's sure is some level of disapproval. Hancock is in the right to be upset, and Liam just stays quiet.

Instead of actually responding, Liam keeps his eyes closed, and vaguely shrugs. It doesn't take and he didn't think it would. He's just stalling.

“You know damn well I can take care of myself. I don't need you acting like some kind of hero when things get dicey.”

Liam finally pries his eyes open, though he still avoids looking at the other man just yet, and instead focuses on a dirty stain on the desk.

“I know,” he says, low and rough, and he can't stop the chill that runs through his whole body. He tells himself it's from the wet shirt. “Can't help worrying, though.” His hand grabs for the dog tags and wedding ring that hang around his neck, fingers fiddling with the worn metal.

Hancock sighs through what's left of his nose.

“Look. It ain't that I don't appreciate the sentiment, but,” he trails off momentarily as he reaches out to adjust the shirt laying across Liam's shoulder and back, “Christ, Liam. Don't scare me like that again, you got that?” He's staring at him expectantly, waiting for a response to know Liam understands. He does. He feels that rough hand on his forearm and he finally nods as his eyes slip closed again.

It seems to be enough and Hancock finally stands back up to rummage through Liam's sack. “Let's see if we can't find you a stimpak or somethin'. You're gonna be feelin' that for the next few days.”

“ 'm sorry, John.”

Liam notes the pause in the rummaging and he wants to sit up and _look_ at Hancock and properly portray how much he knows he fucked up, but he can't even bring himself to open his eyes again, and the cool, wet shirt against his hot burning skin is starting to feel nice. He hears Hancock start going through the pack again after a breath, then the soft pang of a finger flicking against a needle.

“Don't sweat it. But you owe me.” Liam can hear the smug smile on his face, and he finds an odd comfort in that.

**Author's Note:**

> Edited a little, reposted from my tumblr, and second time I've written these guys and I'm still not confident at all but I'll get there o(-(
> 
> My tumblr is [hawkeing-eta](http://hawkeing-eta.tumblr.com/), and I'm always taking requests. I want to write more of these guys and get a better handle on them.


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